


Goodbye hunter

by Abby_K2020



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future, Hunter Dean Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-05-28 03:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15039389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abby_K2020/pseuds/Abby_K2020
Summary: If you asked any hunter how they thought Dean Winchester died, they would probably tell you he went out with a ‘bang’. Only one angel knows the truth.





	Goodbye hunter

Dean wasn't sure what compelled him to pull over, but there he was, rotating the wheel and steering the impala to a gentle stop at the side of the barren highway. He doesn't question it. When his body tells him to stop because something ain't quite right, he stops. He trusts his instincts. Hell, they've kept him alive this long.

As soon as the gear shift is in park he sinks back into the Impala's leather seats with a shaky sigh that wheezes in his lungs and eventually turns into a wet cough. The oxygen rattles in his chest like an old whistle on every inhale, the sound of his labored breathing drowning out the silence. He lets his head rest on the seat while he catches his breath, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth away with the back of his hand.

His old bones can't take being thrown about into walls and across rooms by demons, spirits, and the like anymore. He’s almost 50 for fucks sake. He just can't bounce back from a good ass-kicking like he used to.

He meets his own eyes in the mirror and gives himself a once over. His skin is a sickly pallor, making the veins in his bloodshot eyes stand out all the more. The scintillating gray streaks in his hair shine proudly in the subtle sunlight while the weary lines on his face contrast them, giving Dean the overall look of a diseased man waiting for his ailment to come kill him already. Dean smiles humorlessly at his reflection, eyes focused on his slightly overgrown hair. He always thought he would be long gone before the gray hairs would come. If only Sammy could see him now...

He can practically hear the 'Old man' jokes.

The thought stirs a demanding ache in his chest that has been ever present for the last five years....

Dean stubbornly avoids the memories. He may be old but that doesn't mean he has given up on his valiant attempt to not have feelings.

Calloused, work-hardened hands run affectionately up and down the steering wheel and along the dash. Scarred fingers glide over pristine leather. He is well aware that he has taken way better care of his car than of himself, and he would have it no other way. A fond smile lifts the corner of his mouth as he takes in all that is to be seen of the interior. Where anybody else would see a cup holder, Dean sees the place his baby brother would keep his toy soldiers. Where anybody else would see a stain, Dean would see the place Sam had spit his out his coffee because he was laughing at Dean who had just gotten his hand super glued to a beer bottle.His eyes catch on the initials carved into the door. There is an almost unbearable pull at his heart as he smooths a thumb over the faded S.W.

Where anyone else would see a beautiful classic car, Dean sees his home for the last forty years.

He reaches to unbuckle his seat belt only to find that he was never wearing one. He opens the door and steps out, lovingly shutting it behind him with a gentle click. He runs his hand down the hood as he walks by, giving her a couple pats in what strangely feels like a goodbye.

Beside the eerily quiet highway is a tranquil meadow, undisturbed by so much as a doe and her fawn. White wild flowers grow sporadically throughout the knee high grass. Something about the way they sway easily in the absent breeze calls to Dean, beckoning him forward. He takes his first hesitant step into the field, and then another, and another until he is steadily limping through the meadow. As he walks the tension slowly drains from his limbs. First his arms, whose fists unclench and lower themselves to his sides so curious fingers can run across the velvety white petals as he walks by. Then his shoulders slump and the knots in his back relax. His eyes the color of granny smith apples flutter shut to expose ebony lashes that fan across his cheeks as he tilts his head back and reveals his face to the sun. Finally, and last of all his mind clears of all the past misery and present stress, and there in that field of wildflowers he is enlightened. He is dying.

The revelation doesn't cause Dean to flinch, nor puts a stumble in his step. He just continues to walk deeper into the sea of flowers, letting his fingers weave through the soft grass completely in harmony with the peacefulness of the meadow without skipping a beat. By the time he collapses he is so far into the meadow that the highway can no longer be seen. Dean lays in the sweet cushion of ferns nature has made for him with a contented smile on his face. His wheezy breathing is worsened by the strain of the perilous journey into the flowers, but the emotional and physical pain in his chest can no longer be felt. There is blood spilling from the corner of his mouth again, but instead of using his diminishing strength to wipe it away again, he reaches into his pocket and rummages around for his Ipod. The only thing conflicting him now is what song will be the last song he listens to.

He decides to let Chuck decide. Upon putting the earbuds in his ears, he presses the shuffle button and waits. Dean is half expecting that one Taylor Swift song he downloaded all those years ago to begin blaring in his eardrums in one last little 'screw you Dean' from the Universe. The thought makes a little laugh bubble up from his bloody lips and get caught in his throat, throwing him into a whole new coughing fit. He spits up more blood just as a song begins to filter in through the cheap earbuds. He recognizes the slow guitar rift of Lynnard Skynard and he shuts his eyes, a contented smile on his face as he awaits the end. He can't help but appreciate how appropriate the song 'Free Bird' is in this situation. The introduction quiets and the lyrics begin to lull him.

" _If_ _I_ _leave_ _here_ _tomorrow_ , _Would_ _you_ _still_ _remember_ _me_?"

Dean is as free as a bird now. All his life he has been weighed down by a burden he doesn't remember agreeing to carry. Ever since he was a boy he was responsible for whether a person lives or dies, for his brother, for the whole freaking world. Stopping the apocalypse, Finding god, Defeating Demons, All while keeping himself together. Living the life of a vagabond at the expense of his own happiness. He has saved more people and killed more demons than anybody without so much as a 'thank you'. The weight of the world on his shoulders has felt like boulders chained to his wings all his life, but all the same if he could start over and do it all again he wouldn't change a thing. Despite that fact, he thinks of death as clipping those chains and letting the boulders crash to the ground, smashing to hundreds of tiny pieces. He can't help but feel light without the weight of responsibility smothering him. He smiles, and stretches his boulder free wings as he lays there, blending with the serenity of the field preparing to fly. He is not afraid this time. There are no hell hounds waiting to drag him away into the infernal flames of the pit. It's just him and his tired soul.

" _Won't_ _you_ _fly_ _high_ , _free_ _bird_?"

As the guitar solo begins, he begins to feel sleepy. As his vision begins to blur, something in the back of his mind tickles at his consciousness and refuses to be ignored. It hits him just as the song begins to fade out. He gathers all of the energy left in his body, and in a fit of sheer determination, he prolongs death once again for a few more minutes.

There is something he needs to do.

He rolls his eyes skyward, and begins to pray. "Cas...?"

****

Twenty years later Castiel sits at the bar of a renowned place for passing hunters called 'Purgatory'. The new establishment was very popular among the American hunters and people came from all across the nation to share stories of past hunts or to brag about a kill. But Castiel? He just came for the memories, for this place was on the spot the Roadhouse once stood all those years ago.

At the thought the angel finishes his drink and signals to the bartender to bring him another. He was alone at the bar save for an older gentlemen accompanied by two young boys who sat two seats away to his right. The oldest of the two had just come back from picking a song on the apple jukebox. It was basically one big touch screen built into the wall where you could pay the fee, and then search any song you want on the apple music app. Technology was getting out of hand in Castiel's opinion. If his suspicions are correct then Apple Inc. is well on its way to taking over the world. For now he isn't alarmed, but when the time comes he will be ready to stop them.

The older of the two boys sat down with a sigh while the older man nursed his beer.

"Hey Grandpa finish telling us that story."

The man smiled around his beer and turned in his bar stool to face the two boys. Castiel quietly eavesdropped from where he was sitting.

"It's no story Matt. The Winchesters were real hunters once upon a time."

Castiel perks up at the mention of Sam and Dean, but forces himself not to show it.

"No way Gramps. There is no way those guys were real they were just made up by a couple of bored old hunters.", the oldest one said.

"Yes way they are very real. Sam was the youngest and Dean was the older one."

"The whole story is bullshit!",exclaimed the oldest boy. "There is no possible way one man sold his soul, went to hell and was rescued by an angel, went to purgatory, found god, died and became a demon only to be made human again, and fall in love with the angel who saved him."

Castiels breath hitched involuntarily at that.

"And supposedly his brother was possessed by Lucifer, was addicted to demon blood, stopped the apocalypse along with his brother, over came Lucifer possessing him and threw himself into hell to save the world. Come on Grandpa i'm too old for stories like this."

All the while the young boy was talking the Grandfather had a small smile on his face. "Oh yes its all true. The Winchesters aren't just an old hunters legend, they once drove around the country saving people and killing monsters. They saved the world more times then anyone probably knows and saved more people than anyone can count. Boy trust me, any hunter worth his salt knows of the Winchesters. An' any monster you find will be shakin in his boots at the mention of the Winchester name."

The youngest of the two who had been silent with an expression of quiet awe on his face, piped up from the bar stool he sat in. "Grampa? How did they die? Was it a monster that got them?"

"The youngest of the two died before the older one did. Nobody is sure how or what did it, but it drove the older one mad. Dean was his name. They say Dean went mad with grief and that he hunted everything spooky with or without a pulse in North America.", the man said with a solmn expression.

"Why didn't he sell his soul again like he did before?", the oldest of the two said.

"Rumor has it his angel lover wouldn't let him." Castiel had to hide his blush that time.

"Wait so how did Dean die?", the oldest said when a genuine expression.

"Nobody knows. Some say he died taking on ten demons single-handedly, some say he died in a big explosion, and some say he scarified his life to save the world somehow. There are even rumors that say he is still out there hunting down whatever it was that killed his little brother."

"Do you think we could ever be as good of hunters like them?", the youngest of the two stared up with big eyes at the man.

"Those boys were the two greatest hunters to ever live and they will never be forgotten for the sacrifices they made for each other and the world. I bet you two boys will be every bit as good as they were, and that some day you will save the world."

Castiel couldn't help but smile into his glass. To him there will never be as great of hunters as Sam and Dean, but his opinion is probably biased. He can never suppress the smile he gets when he overhears the story of the Winchesters being passed down to a new generation of hunters. Knowing that the sacrifices they made and the people they saved will never be forgotten will always bring Castiel joy. As for the rumors of the Winchester's fate, those will always amuse Castiel to know end. Only he knows the truth, but because he likes to hear the stories of how the great Sam and Dean Winchester went out in a fiery explosion, he keeps it to himself.

***

Castiel didn't know what to expect when he first heard Dean's prayer. He was in the middle of a heated discussion about what should be done to stop the demons from building up their army with Heniel.

"I don't see why we don't just go down there ourselves and put an end to it.", Heniel says with a huff.

"Sister, that is foolish! I refuse to lead angels to their deaths like that. The demons are in their element down there. Do you know how many of our brothers and sisters would be slaughtered?!" Castiel exclaims through gritted teeth.

Whatever Heniel's reply was Castiel will never know. The sound of Dean's voice in the back of his head steals all of his attention away from the argument.

"Cas...? Hey, if you're not busy I wanna see you. It's okay if your off doing important angel business and what not but it would mean a lot to me if you came." Something is off about Dean. Castiel can hear it through his prayer. Without further preamble he promptly spreads his wings and flies to Dean's location.

Daisies. He has landed in a field speckled with beautiful wild daisies.

Castiel doesn't know why his wings have led him to this quiet pasture in the middle of Colorado, but even in his confusion he marvels at the still beauty of nature around him. It's peaceful. Perhaps too peaceful. The absence of pests like bugs buzzing around his head and mice burrowing throughout the ferns awaken an age old instinct within Castiel. Not a bird flying through the sky. The hush that has become of nature is similar to the eerie quiet before a catastrophe. It's as if the animals know an earthquake or a hurricane of some sort will fall upon them at any moment. Animals are always the first to know. The thought makes Castiel uneasy. Something is wrong he needs to find...

Dean.

He spots him a few yards away ensconced among the daisies. His cadaverous pale figure was incongruous with the jovial sway of the flowers above him, who seemed to surround him in a protective halo on the ground. The ferns made way for the Hunter and surrounded him in a gentle embrace like a leafy cradle. Dean himself looks fragile, as if one more hunt would break him. Albeit he already looks to be broken. There is nothing physically wrong with him on the outside said for the stream of blood trailing from his mouth. His eyes are closed and his eyelashes are fluttering softly. All of the sorrowful lines around his eyes and mouth are relaxed and despite the stands of grey peppering his hair, he looks more youthful than he has in years. Almost as if he were resting, but Castiel can see right through him. Literally. He can physically see how the third, fourth, and fifth ribs have been broken into several pieces and are straining his one good lung, while the other lungs sits in his chest useless and collapsed. He can reach out with his grace and feel the way blood is slowly leaking into his stomach from his spleen, causing him to slowly bleed to death internally.

He ponders the hidden symbolism of this moment. Dean Winchester, boy who was shown the ugly side of the world instead of happiness, and man who no matter how many lives he saves imprisons himself in self-hatred and loathing for the ones he doesn't.Righteous man and former demon, servant of god and knight of hell. A fierce hunter and warrior for all that is good. Whose only carefree moment will be his last, contently sharing his blood with the flowers of a quiet meadow.

"Dean!"

At the sound of his voice the old hunters eyes open minutely. He lifts his head groggily as if it were a heavy boulder before it falls back into the pillow of grass. "Cas?"

Castiel comes to kneel beside him, reaching forward with two fingers aimed at Deans forehead to heal his old friend once again. But instead of allowing it, the old hunters eyes widen suddenly and in an attempt to get way his turns his head to the side with a feeble "No.." falling off his chapped lips.

Castiel runs a hand through his hair in exaggeration and gives Dean a look only a mother would give a stubborn child. "Dean.", is said sternly."Let me heal you, you will not live much longer with your severe injuries." The angel moves to put his fingers to the hunters forehead but is again feebly avoided. "Dean! You are going to-"

"It's my time Cas." Dean's voice has kept its rich baritone over the years, but now it comes out in a soundless rasp. Castiel panics upon hearing the admission. Mostly because deep down he already knew, yet he still clings to the ball of swirling denial in his chest. And just like that, the angel's steadfast mask of stoicism crumbles.

"But-No Dean if you-"

"Cas... Buddy..."

"No Dean! Stop calling me that patronizing word! Dean... " He stops to grab hold of Dean's hand, "We have been through a lot, you and I... You aren't my "buddy" Dean. You never were."

 The old hunters face softens and he squeezes the angels hand in his own.

”I know Cas.”

”I don’t want you to die, what if something happens and—“

”I get sent somewhere not over the rainbow? Nah Cas, I ain’t worried. I know you’ll come drag my ass to heaven if I end up somewhere I ain’t supposed to go.”

A soft sad chuckle escaped the angel as he squeezes the dying man’s hand just a little tighter.

”Of coarse Dean, I will watch over you in life and death.”

Dean felt content to sit in the tall grass next to Castiel as he ran out the clock. His breathing was getting more and more labored and shallow as the seconds pass. Their fingers were still intertwined. Dean’s rough calloused ones and Castiel’s long slender ones holding tight while the pad of Dean's thumb ran up and down the angels knuckles methodically.

”Hey Cas?”

The words came out of his mouth in a broken wheeze. His harsh breathing earns a sad look from the angel and who in return squeezes his hand reassuringly.

”I’m sorry for being such a jerk to you the last couple years. I shouldn’ta’—“

”It’s alright Dean, you were hurting after Sam’s death.”

The hunter gave him a small peaceful smile as his thumb continued to make it’s  way across Castiel’s knuckles and back.

“You know I love you n’stuff.’

Castiel couldn’t help but laugh. Not mockingly, but with unfiltered joy.

”I love you and stuff as well Dean.”

With his confession he felt the final boulder weighing him down suddenly lift. He loves Castiel, and now the angel knows. He is free of troubles. The wild flowers rejoice around them as they sway and dance in the breeze, white petals glistening in the iridescent shine of the sun.

With one last broken exhale Dean’s thumb stops its trail across Castiel’s knuckles, and his battle scarred hand goes limp in the angels grasp. Dean dies with a blissful smile on his lips, one Castiel hasn’t seen since Sam’s death.

 ***

 

20 years later Castiel decides to let the old hunter and his grandchildren talk in peace. He had heard all he needed to. He missed his hunter.

He stands abruptly and knocks back the rest of his drink. Whiskey, like Dean would always drink.

He strides purposely out the door, trench coat waving behind him.

As soon as he was outside he spread his wings, not giving a damn if anyone could see the magnificent shadow behind him. With one mighty thrust of his wings he was up and into the atmosphere. Heaven bound. 

It didn’t take him long to navigate through the millions of heavens to the one he was looking for. He knew the way by heart, or.. by grace technically. 

He felt it. As soon as he stepped foot in that particular heaven. The feeling of being home. 

It was a familiar sight. Bobby’s home in South Dakota. Except now he has a huge lush green front yard. Down the road was  Ellen’s bar The roadhouse, and further down the road was the old Winchester house. The one that burned down because of Azazel when Dean was 4 years old, looking like the beautiful well lived in home it once was. 

His eyes immediately lock into Dean, Who looks to be around 24 years old. His childlike demeanor had returned to him in heaven. His face was free of stress and pain. The haggard lines on his face are gone and replaced with the smile lines of a happy young man. His eyes are as vibrant and mischievous as ever, and he smiles. A lot. Not just the small lift of one side of his mouth, but a full blown smile. A smile full of perfect white teeth and dimples, but most of all full of genuine happiness. 

Not only is his face young and without old scars, but his body was good as new. No more bullet wounds, no more claw marks from rugarus, and no more scars on his soul. It was flawless, and brighter than its ever been. To Castiel’s immense pleasure the only scar that remained on his body was the hand print on his shoulder. Not just because he was a little on the possessive side, but because the only way it could still be on his body is if Dean wanted it there. But the important part is, Dean had finally gotten what he deserved.

Peace.

He was currently standing in front of a grill wearing a ridiculous chef hat with an apron that said ‘kiss the chef’.  It made Castiel smile.

As Dean flipped burgers at the grill, Sam was playing fetch with a golden retriever in Bobby’s yard beside him. Sam looked just as happy as his older brother did. He was equally as childlike as Dean, maybe even more so. His smile was bright and his laughter was real as he pet the dog when it successfully returned the tennis ball he had been throwing. 

Charlie and Jo were talking animatedly about something or other on the front pouch behind the two boys, and Castiel could sense Mary cooking in the kitchen. Bobby and John were touching up the impalas engine in the backyard, both men were much younger than when they died. Bobby was slender with brown hair underneath his new hat, and John was actually smiling without the frown lines ruining his handsome face.

Castiel would sit and watch them for hours, days even, until he was called back to his angelic duties as a soldier. But now he was where he wanted to be, watching over Dean like he said he would be.  The smile on his face felt permanent. 

And then Dean looked over to him, and Castiel felt his cheeks starting to hurt from smiling, because now Dean was striding over to him. His big goofy smile never left his face, even as the ridiculous chef hat was blown off the top of his head to reveal his disheveled hair.

The only thing stopping his smile were the lips on his. And he loved the kissing as much as he did the smiling. 

He felt a hand in his hair, no longer scarred and calloused, and a smile against his lips. 

“Hey Cas, missed you.”

”Hello Dean.”

Now it’s Castiel’s turn. He surges forward with renewed vigor, claiming Dean’s lips like he had always wanted to. Dean melted like butter in his hands, which were now squeezing his behind, as jo and Charlie cat called from the front porch. 

In all the millennia Castiel had been alive, this is the first time heaven really felt like heaven.


End file.
